NYC NYE
by TStabler
Summary: It's close to midnight in New York City, but it's no ordinary night. It's New Year's Eve, and this year, a handful of New York's finest detectives aren't holding to tradition. There will be no resolutions this year, as they will be ringing in the new year with something much more permanent and meaningful. ONE SHOT SERIES. EO with other pairings.
1. High Bar

**A/N: Most of us celebrate the new year by making resolutions and drinking cheap champagne, but somewhere in New York City, two people prefer high-end liquor and fireworks.**

The smell in the bar is something between sweet and smoky, and there doesn't seem to be an empty seat in the place. It's lucky they got here early, and they have the table by the window all to themselves.

"Look at them," he says, jutting his chin toward the crowd gathered in the freezing cold night beyond the window. "They're crazy," he laughs, wondering why anyone would not only spend New Year's Eve in New York City outside, let alone at the waterfront.

"They're excited," she says, a wistful look on her face. "College kids, from the looks of things," she points to a group of young, giddy people, holding up beer bottles and shouting their resolutions into the night wind.

"I wasn't like that in college," he claims, grinning.

"You were a married father when you were in college," she retorts with a semi-haughty smile.

He seethes, feigning offense, and then says, "You weren't like that in college either, Benson."

Her smile fades. "Yeah, I know," she gives him, and then nods once. She reaches for her shot glass but misses and grabs his hand. There's a moment where her heart stops as she looks into his eyes.

He doesn't mind at all and he looks at her with a smile as he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle. It makes her blush and he chuckles. He leans over and whispers something in her ear that makes the blush deepen, her eyes darken, and his smile becomes a smirk.

She lets him keep her hand in his, using the other one to grab and down her shot. She makes a face as she swallows, the burn hitting harder than she expected.

"Well, this place is insane, huh? He did it," he says, looking around at the crowd and laughing. "He really fucking did it."

She nods. "He had the time," she replies, "And thanks to you, he had the money."

"It's just an investment," he affirms, "We'll get it back." He tugs on her hand and says, "Dance with me."

She eyes him again. It's dangerous; she knows the dance will start on the floor but move to the bathroom or the alley or the kitchen or anywhere dark and empty. Dancing with him has always led to a different kind of tango. She knows it always will.

"Liv," he speaks her name like it's the most precious name in the world. "Baby, come on. Dance with me."

Smiling, she nods, and she lets him take her. She follows his lead as he pulls on her hand, walking between bodies to the small wooden patch of cleared floor. It's glowing yellow and green and red, the DJ is fist-pumping like only a twenty-something from Jersey can, and they come to a stop somewhere in the middle.

"John Munch," he says with a chuckle, "Owns a bar." He shakes his head and wraps his arms around Olivia and begins to move to a song he has never heard before, and as the lyrics hit his ears he is certain it's one he doesn't really want to hear ever again.

She laughs, then, too. "It's what he wanted, El," she says. And it's true. Munch had talked about having his own bar for years, and when he retired last year, he vowed to make it happen. Elliot helped him along by writing him a ten-thousand-dollar check, on the promise of a full return with interest. It's a promise that Elliot doesn't plan on holding his friend to, but he won't refuse if it's a promise kept. They'll need the money, after all.

The memory fades as the volume rises. The lights flash and the floor seems to come alive, it undulates and thumps beneath their feet. Her dress shimmers in the neon lights and his black silk shirt and blue tie glow in the greenish-yellow haze. Someone behind her moves too fast and shoves her closer to Elliot. He growls slightly and tightens his hold, his hot breath falling on her neck. "Liv," he whispers into her ear, "Make a resolution."

"Not this year! You know I never keep them," she yells, hoping to be heard over the music. Her eyes pop a bit when she feels one of his hands moving, skimming up the fabric of her dress. "Elliot," she calls, a question dancing on her voice.

There is menace in his smile and love in his eyes as he gives an innocent, "What?" His hand moves higher, his fingertips slipping under and along the elastic hem of the thin pair of silk panties she's wearing.

Her eyes flutter closed as she gets shoved again, someone behind her dancing a bit too wildly and a bit too drunkenly. The movement is enough to make his hand twist, and two of his fingers are now grazing at her slit, the heat radiating from her to him.

"Jesus," he spits, in awe of how much he wants her, how much she wants him in return. "Come on, baby," he goads, "Humor me. Make a resolution." He slides one of his fingers up and down, feeling wetness coat his knuckle, and he inhales sharply as his dick hardens more than it was already, because he's always halfway there around her. Always.

She bites her lip and shakes her head. "I'd break it tomorrow," she mumbles, her hands curling and digging into his back. They're trying to keep up appearances, moving to the music and hoping the crowd hides the truth.

"A promise, then," he says, and he starts walking backward. He's got one finger buried in her now, all the way, and he swivels it as they move. "You never break those. Make me a promise."

As she expected, she's being pulled into a dark corner near the door to the kitchen, nestled behind a fake tree. She feels him lift her dress high, hears him moan, and assumes he must now be looking, watching his handiwork. She moans as another finger joins the fray and twists into her. "God, El, what promise?"

He hums and bends his head, kisses her slowly as he bends and crooks his fingers, and moans her name against her lips. "Promise me," he breathes as his forehead rests against hers, "Forever." He turns, then, slamming her up against the wall. His hand is ripped from her achingly ready core and she yelps his name. He shakes his head as he works his belt buckle open with one hand, the other pulling her useless, soaked panties aside. "Promise," he whispers.

She can hear the crowd growing louder, someone shouts that it's five till midnight.

He lines up, the tip of his cock nudges, teases, and he hums along with the song as he waits. When she blinks and looks at him, that's when he thrusts.

She moans loudly, but no one except for him hears her. "Fuck, Elliot," she moans, and her hands drag down his back and swoop around to the outsides of his arms. "I've already promised…"

"No, honey," he groans, moving again. He buries himself, fully, his pelvis is pressing against hers, and he kisses her again. "Do you promise…" he grunts as he thrusts, and he holds both of her hands in one of his, "To be with me, just me, forever?"

The people in the bar are chanting now, counting down from ten, and just as they hit "three," he thrusts forward again, hard. He pulls out, hurls himself forward, inside her, so deep. "Baby," he whispers. "Please."

She nods as she kisses him, her hips begin to roll against his motions now, his thrusts small but powerful. As the voices around them yell "two" she answers him. "God, Elliot, baby, yes," the moan has a double meaning, but she clarifies for his sake. "As long as you promise...forever with me," she tells him, and she realizes now she's fucking him up against the wall of a bar on New Year's Fucking Eve, and it's a hell of a time to officially answer the question he's been unofficially asking her for months now. She knows why. He didn't want to start a new year not knowing.

He grunts again as he slams his mouth over hers and his hips seem to work harder, faster, as somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognizes the word "one" being sung out by a million different voices.

They now hear the yelling and cheering, whooping and hollering, and it all drowns out the sounds of their intense and passionate climaxes that seem to happen simultaneously. They hear the cracks and bangs as the fireworks explode over the harbor and behind their closed eyelids at the same moment. When he slams into her one last time, he grunts, "Happy New Year, baby."

She inhales, breathes him in, her nails dig into his arms and she nods as she vibrates, still cumming. When they calm, when they still, they look into each other's eyes and the promise becomes sacred. She blinks as he pulls out, pulls away, and he grins smugly as he slips her panties back into place and slides down the fabric of her dress.

She doesn't understand the cocky smile until she feels something on her hand that wasn't there the last time she was consciously noticing. Her eyes bulge as she takes in the sight of the shining, sparkling, solitaire diamond. "El," she wheezes, her breathing still ragged.

"You promised," he reminds her with a kiss, and he pulls her back toward the middle of the bar where he can kiss her in full view of everyone in the place, he has earned bragging rights.

She takes a breath and she smiles at him. "Yes, I did," she tells him. She kisses him again and the fireworks light up the sky through the window behind them. It's not a resolution that will be broken, this year. It's a promise made every day, since the moment they met, that will absolutely be kept.

 **A/N: Happy New Year!**


	2. NYE Tradition

**A/N: Resolutions are for the weak-willed; traditions hold stronger.**

There are six bottles on ice, in buckets, lined in a row on the marble countertop in Elliot Stabler's kitchen. Three are sparkling cider, two are a brand of champagne only one person in the house can even pronounce, and one is simply...there. It's the most expensive bottle of liquor he owns, and its quality died with his father. It will go unopened, unpoured. It's simply placed on the table, for tradition.

The silver and purple banners and balloons are enough to look classy and festive, but even one more will tip the scale towards cheesy. There are hats and favors and noisemakers, all in the same color scheme, perched at each place setting with a few extras on the coffee table, because an extra body or two show up unannounced every year. It's a tradition.

There are a few bottles of light beer scattered around, for the lighter drinkers like himself, and he pops the cap off of one, downs half in one long swig, and tips the bottle a bit in honor of the people who aren't around to go with them into the new year. It's something he does alone, since no one would understand. It's between him and God. It's a tradition.

He sets his beer down and folds his arms, his muscles straining slightly against the purple cotton of his shirt. When he smiles, it meets his ears, makes his eyes crinkle. He inhales deeply and exhales slowly, turns on his heels and takes in the sight of his decked out living room. It's the first time it's felt like home in a while, and he's not sure if it's because of who moved out of the house or who moved in, or both.

With a bit of a start, he gasps and checks his watch, and then runs into the kitchen. He swings open the refrigerator, wrestles with the shelves and drawers, and piles packages on jars on bottles in his arms. He stands, kicks it closed, and moves to head back out into the parlor, but what he sees now gives him pause. Takes his breath away. Makes his heart stop. Makes his dick hard.

"Hello," he says, it comes out raspy and gravelly.

She rolls her eyes and moves, grabbing what she can before he drops everything, and she's not in the mood to clean salsa and spinach dip off of the freshly mopped tile. "Hi," she chuckles. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He licks his lips as he follows her into the next room, his eyes glued to her ass as it sways and shifts. "Why do you think?" he retorts. He sets the mish-mosh of snacks and condiments on the counter and leans against it, eyeing her as she sets them out, evenly spacing them between the drinks. "Those jeans…" he moans, and he turns, one of his palms slapping and cupping the very bottom of her of her left cheek. He squeezes and growls again. "Make your ass look fucking amazing."

She angles her head slightly and raises one eyebrow.

"Okay," he says, nodding, "I mean, your ass looks amazing in whatever you wear, when you're not wearing anything at all…" he smirks. "And when you're wearing me." He moves fast again, his other hand cupping her other cheek, and he kisses her hard.

At first, she wants to push him away. He's only had half a beer and he's already vulgar and handsy. The longer she waits, though, the more she sinks into his kiss, wraps herself around him, and lets him be vulgar and handsy. There's a reason for it, tonight. She pulls away and moans softly, but blinks her eyes open and chuckles as she brings her hands to his face and wipes away the smudged smears of purple lipstick that linger on his lips. "You're in a mood," she tells him.

"Yeah," he nods. "I'm happy, Liv." He shrugs, and that broad smile beams again.

She smiles back, her eyes finding and mirroring the depth of emotion in his. "What are we gonna tell…"

"The truth," he interrupts, and then he winks. "But we'll get him all liquored up first." He slaps her ass again, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip.

"You know he doesn't drink," she chuckles. She whispers, "Maybe he won't be too pissed," and then kisses him.

"Maybe I'm really Batman," he mumbles against her lips, and when he leans back he points to the ceiling. "Kids?"

"Maureen won't come down until Jimmy calls her," she says. "Kathleen is drying her hair, Lizzie is painting her nails, and Rich is…" she stops. Her eyes close for a moment and she wobbles.

"Hey, hey," he wraps her in his arms and whispers, "Did you eat, yet? Take your pills?"

She nods. "Just a little queasy," she tells him. She clears her throat and straightens up, and finishes talking. "He's just fixing his tie. What's with the name change? Rich?"

"He's just trying it on for size," Elliot jokes. "He, uh, he thinks Dickie makes him sound like a kid. I told him, ya know, he is a kid, but…" he waves a hand through the air, knowing but not accepting that his son is growing up. All of his children are. He catches her eyes then, and he grins. There will be more children, sooner than anyone anticipates, and the thought makes his heart swell.

The doorbell rings and she sighs as she pushes herself away from him to open the door, now steady on her feet. She swipes her hands over her purple shirt, tugs down the hem, and then opens the door with a plastered on smile and cheerful, "Hey, guys!"

John Munch walks in first, kisses her cheek, and then heads right for Elliot and the beer. Fin and Melinda Warner come in soon after, shaking the snow off their coats and giving Olivia small hugs.

Olivia laughs and is about to close the door when a hand stops her. "Oh!" she chuckles. "Sorry, Cap," she says, reopening the door and hugging the man who started as her boss and became more of her father.

"You look beautiful, Benson," he says to her with a smile, and he turns to hang his coat and hat. His head snaps at the sound of shuffling feet and younger voices, and he sees Elliot's four children running down the stairs. He narrows his eyes, then, and he gives Olivia a sideways glance. They're all wearing purple. They all match each other and the decor, and he can't help but feel as though its all meant to tell him something. He tugs on his black polo shirt, feeling slightly underdressed now, and he moves to greet Elliot. He steps up to the younger man, holds out a hand, and says, "Place looks great. How long did it take to remodel?"

Elliot scratches his head as he reaches around for his unfinished beer, trying to think, and he says, "Everything was done in three months, actually. Couple of Liv's friends work in contracting, and her old landlord did us a couple of favors. I wanted it all done before I asked her, ya know?" He realizes what has come out of his mouth and he instantly clears his throat. "So, yeah, didn't take long."

Cragen blinks once and shoots a glance toward Olivia, who is now in full conversation with Casey Novak and her date. He hums, wondering why he didn't hear the doorbell ring, and he laughs when Elliot's son runs to Olivia with a strip of fabric. He watches as Olivia ties the boy's tie for him, and then his smile flattens. He sees Olivia kiss the boy's forehead, watches the young man hug her and then run back to the table of food. "When?" he asks, and he turns toward Elliot.

"Tonight," Elliot says, nodding. "She doesn't know, and she doesn't know that you know." He takes a long sip of his beer and says, "She actually thinks I'm telling you about us, tonight. She, uh, she's under the impression that we've been keeping this huge secret from you."

Cragen's eyes narrow. "You didn't tell her that you came to me before you even…"

Elliot shakes his head and makes a noise, cutting Cragen off, and he says, "Nope." He takes another sip from the bottle in his hand and he exhales sharply. "She's convinced you'll hate her, that you'll be disappointed, that you'll fire one of us." He looks at his captain. "I thought...maybe tonight...we could both surprise her, huh?"

Cragen smiles and then turns his attention, once again, toward Olivia. He squints when he sees that Fin is offering her a glass of champagne, but she's refusing, and he notices one hand resting on her stomach. "How many surprises do you have in store for me tonight, Elliot?"

Elliot smirks, winks at Cragen, and then moves to the middle of the room. He sets down his beer and picks up the remote control for the TV, hits a few buttons, and shoves one hand into his pocket as he sidles up beside Olivia. "Everyone ready?" he yells out to the small group of friends, and his family.

There's a chorus of cheers and yells, and Fin slips in beside Melinda with his drink in his hand. "Leave all the bullshit behind, people!"

"I'll drink to that!" Munch yells, and he raises a glass, but he doesn't take a sip. Not until the ball drops.

They all start the countdown together, but by the time they get to five, two people have stopped counting. "Liv," his voice whispers, and he cups her chin and turns her face to meet his. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she says, grinning.

He trembles as he lifts his other hand to her, a small box between his fingers. He flicks it open like a Zippo lighter and he says, "I'm not only asking because you're pregnant, I...I've wanted to ask you...for so long." He feels his lungs burn as he takes another deep breath. "Will you marry me?"

His question ends at the moment everyone yells "Happy New Year," and he's dying with every second that she waits to answer. He swipes away a tear that spills out of her right eye, and he watches her head turn slowly toward the man standing next to Elliot.

"Answer the boy, sweetheart," Cragen says, and there are tears in his own eyes as he nods.

She sniffles and turns, and she swallows the lump in her throat. "Yes," she says with a sob and a laugh. "Yes, yes!"

Her squeal makes heads turn, and there are murmurs and questions as eyes land on Olivia and Elliot locked in a deep, heated kiss. There are whistles and they can hear "What did we miss?" and "What the hell just happened?" and "Way to go, Dad!"

With his head still pressed to hers, he breaths again, and he says, "Cap?"

Cragen wipes his eyes and clears his throat and he moves before he speaks. "Liv, Elliot told me about this...last year, actually. He asked me. Not as your boss, but because he wanted to ask permission...from...well, I guess I'm the next best thing to a father, huh?" He chuckles. "I saw this coming a mile away, and as long as you clear it through the right offices and go through the right channels...you have my blessing." He sets his hand on her shoulder and leans in a bit closer, and he whispers, "How long, exactly, do I have to get used to the idea of being a grandpa?"

She laughs through her tears, though more form and fall, and she looks at her captain, at the man she loves like a father, and she says, "Five months."

Cragen kisses her cheek. "Congratulations, both of you, you deserve…" he gives another hard clear of his throat, refusing to cry. "After everything you've been through, you deserve happiness. I'm happy that you found it with each other. And...I'm proud, and honored, to be a part of it." He smiles again and then walks away, leaving them to revel in the moment, and he starts to mingle with the other members of his unit. His family.

"Hey," Elliot whispers to Olivia as they kiss and sway to the music from the television, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she replies, and she rests her head on his shoulder. "How are we gonna top this, next year?" she asks with a laugh, and she kisses the crook of his neck.

"Oh, we'll think of something," he says, grinning. "After all, baby, it's tradition."

 **A/N: Happy New Year!**


End file.
